


First Fantasy NaNoWriMo: 17: He of the Blade.

by SkiesOverTokyo



Series: FirstFan NaNoWriMo Drabbles [18]
Category: First Fantasy (Webcomic)
Genre: Backstory, Lore - Freeform, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 15:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16663207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkiesOverTokyo/pseuds/SkiesOverTokyo
Summary: Lore of the First Fan World.





	First Fantasy NaNoWriMo: 17: He of the Blade.

Legends tell of a warrior who stalks the frozen wildernesses of the world. Sightings of him are not common, and he usually only appears to those in desperate need of help. But he always helps. Be it injury, or predator chasing, or low on food or water, when he appears, striding out of falling snow, or rising sun, or forest edge, he is always ready to help. Some call him a spirit of the snow, a ghost that refuses to lose its solid form, but once he has fought off hunger or monster, or healed the wounded, he talks a little, before he disappears back into myth and legend.   
  
No one is quite sure _what_ he is, for he wears thick, old armour, of a style rarely seen, and even more rarely used these days, a relic-his face remains hidden in a simple helm, and no skin is visible in the gaps between his armour, for he wears thick clothing to keep out the cold. Some say he is a man, broad and tall as oxen, with a voice like an avalanche. Others say he is a slender elf, able to move faster than the eye can blink, and that his bulk is due to the padding, with a voice like soft velvet. Even more suggest he is an orc, noble and just, as many of that race are, and that the cold does not bother him, but the sun does, that, despite his size, he is soft spoken, and, unusually for males of that race, an adept healer.  
  
What they all agree on is that he carries a sword. Though perhaps the word “sword” does not quite cover his weapon, for it more resembles a colossal meat cleaver, a block of metal a hand’s breadth wide, designed not to cut but to crush. A weapon as archaic as his armour, for sure-a claymore of the old world, before swords became a refined artistry. On his other arm is attached a peculiar item, a sonic cannon that blasts pure sound at enemies, and often is enough to scare off all but the most dangerous or foolhardy monsters.  
  
Sightings of him are rare, traveller. All he asks for in return is news of the world, for he strays not from the frozen parts of the world, but hungers for information from abroad. Satisfied with your tale, he will bid you farewell, calling blessings from an ancient god that he alone seems to remember the name of upon you for your safe journey to where you are headed. And then the icy wastes seem to swallow him up, even on a clear day-some have tried to follow him, but to no avail.  
  
As for his name…he bears many. The White Ghost, the Tundra Warrior, Lord Eisgeist.  
He carries but one, and has given it but once, to a traveller, a boy heading north, and to him, this mysterious young man, who made him spit his one secret up, he introduced himself.  
As “He of the Blade”.  



End file.
